


Dance Baby Dance

by valjeanandjavert



Category: The Nice Guys (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 21:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valjeanandjavert/pseuds/valjeanandjavert
Summary: Drunken stuff happens. Resolutions happen.





	Dance Baby Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't Beta'd so I hope it's OK.
> 
> Check out my end notes too for more information.

Healy was 40 when he realised that he wasn't too happy with how his life had panned out. But here's the thing, if he'd tried to figure out where he'd gone wrong, he couldn't.

I mean, sure, people know him as the 'real life tough guy' but he's an old man for Christ's sake. Honest living? Yeah, he'd argue it was; but at the end of the day, he's a goddamn knee-breaker. He had hopes, man - to become a private investigator at the very least. Life hasn't treated him so well. He can't argue that people don't have it a hell of a lot worse. Even one of those birds, you know - with the polluted air? Yeah, even they have it worse than Jackson Healy. It's not like he isn't satisfied with life in general - not since the Diner incident, anyway. That was when he realised that he could do some good. Sure, it meant that he came away with a bullet in his bicep but it felt _good_. And anyway, it's not as though he needs to impress anyone with his body. Another scar won't harm anybody.

At least he has a place to sleep at night. Some unfortunate bastards can't even get that. He's got a flat above the comedy store that's pretty reasonable. He likes where he lives. There were no unneeded expenses occupying his place, only the bare necessities. It was spartan. That's how he likes it. A couple of years ago, he was a home-owner with ridiculous amounts of junk laying everywhere but he was doing alright; he had a marriage to account for. But hey, marriage is buying a house for someone you hate and he lives up to that the better part of everyday. Marriage sure as hell bit him in the ass.

 _Equanimity, Jack._ Remember that.

He guesses he shouldn't complain. He's got friends. Not the kind that he would contact unless they reached out to him, but the principle still remains. You know? And there's Holland March too. So maybe he exaggerated slightly. Life isn't too bad.

See, Jackson Healy is pretty damn attracted to Holland March.

It isn't one of those blasé kind of attractions that's easy to shake off, either. It's the 'I wanna shag you at any time of the day, at any possible angle if I don't bust a hip,' kind of attraction. You know, the one that's hardest to ignore. And hey, Jackson's not that young anymore so it wouldn't be difficult to break a hip - his bones crack at any kinda movement as it is.

He's experienced this before but it's not as simple as it should be and here's the problem, it's an emotional attraction too. Some days, he takes one look at the broken man that is Holland March, sipping from a bottle of liquor and only wants to be laying with him. To wrap his own thick arms around that tiny waist and pull him closer in some kinda act of an embrace. Ain't that great?

In Jackson's defence, he's handling the situation well enough. Or so he thinks, anyway. He's almost a hundred percent convinced that Holland's oblivious. Although he's oblivious to pretty much anything other than his daily alcohol consumption. But Healy figures that what Holland doesn't know can't kill him. In this sense, at least.

-

"I need a drink," Holland states as he steps through the threshold of his and Holly's second temporary rental. "You coming in?"

Jackson turns towards him to consider the offer. As much as the idea of a drink sounds tempting, the thought of his own bed's more appealing. He's exhausted. Seeming to sense his hesitation, Holland walked through the threshold of the door, and shouted in his direction that there's some YooHoo's in the fridge. Shrugging with a sigh, Jackson followed him into the kitchen. After all, he can't blame himself entirely for feeling slightly more frisky today than usual. It was entirely the fault of Holland March. There should be some fucking law against being bent down like that. Even after two hours the image was still engraved in his mind, and Christ, he felt a pulse in his pants.

A cold milkshake bottle was pressed into his hand before he thought anymore about it.

"You smashed that guy, good job." March praised Healy and patted him on the back. He lifted his drink to his lips as a toast.

He brushed off the praise before raising his own bottle and taking a swig.

"How'd you manage it?" March asked, gesturing with his hands the action of a gun being knocked away. "It was pressed right against your temple."

"A trick from Juvy," he responded modestly, glancing around the apartment and listening to the dull thrumming that must've been coming from an aircon. "It's not complicated."

Holland laughed. "You were in Juvy?"

"Yeah,"

"What?" March repeated in disbelief.

"What's so hard to believe?"

"I should've known you were a reckless teen," Holland commented as Healy walked over to the coffee table and placed his YooHoo down, "the bruiser, Jack Healy."

He ignored Holland's remark. "Wouldn't hurt for you to learn. God knows you get yourself in that situation often enough."

"Sounds like an invitation to me," Holland commented back and sat on the couch, smiling up at Healy with a develish smirk. "Is it an invitation?"

"Fuck you is it an invitation."

-

Three YooHoo's later and Healy was still at the March's. Can't seem to get away from the place even when he wants to. What an ugly trick of fate that is. Normally this kinda thing wouldn't be too bad. But it's Holland March we're talking about here and he's never obeyed the standard of being normal. See, sober March is fine, he's completely tolerable and Healy can handle that. Hell, he can even cope with March when he's slightly drunk, but when he's actually drunk? It's just not safe. Want to know why? Because Holland March flirts with Jackson Healy. It's some kinda unconscious omission.

Healy would rather be sat at home with his feet up but right now, he's listening to his business partner singing a bad tune from the radio. He's counted the bottles surrounding Holland who was laid back on the sofa with his legs wide apart. He tried keep his gaze from the invitation in front of him but fuck, those pants were tight.

"Do you ever shut the fuck up?"

He stood up and moved towards Holland, taking the liquor bottle from his grasp and scooping the lid from the table to put it back on the bottle. When he realised it had gone from his hand, his eyes opened and his brow furrowed.

"Hey! I was gonna drink that," he reached for the bottle that Jackson had already moved to the cupboard.

Jackson made his way back over towards Holland with the intent of clearing the bottles away. "You're drunk. Go to sleep, asshole."

"Yeah, yeah," he sat up and tried to regain his energy. "I had like two, three, drinks tops."

Healy'd heard it all before. And what can he say to a guy that's had it said to him too many times before? Besides, Holland had other plans. He was surprisingly determined when he had a litre of alcohol in him.

"C'mon, show me self defence,"

Healy shook his head. "No. You wouldn't pay attention."

"Fuck you. I would, c'mon, Healy." He asked and stood up for the first time in over two hours. He stumbled and Healy grabbed onto his sleeve. Maybe he didn't need any support, it's not as though he was going to fall flat on his ass, but it was instinct, Jack told himself. A natural response. March, though, definitely interpreted it as something else.

"You could crush me in a second with those fucking arms," he commented and reached to squeeze a bare bicep. It's just fat, really, but hey, if March mistakes it for muscle, who's he to tell him differently? He realised that he still had his own hand wrapped around March's arm and he swiftly released his grasp.

"Teach me self defence," he told him, "or I'll just turn up at one of your classes."

Bullshit. Holland knows he hasn't ran one of those classes since before the Amelia case. Still, the thought of Holland walking in mid-way through when he's giving a demonstration sends shivers down his spine.

He finally takes his hand away from Jack's arm, "I'll even teach you something in return, if that's what you're worried about."

A scoff is suppressed. The burning area on his arm from where Holland's touch had just been is testimony enough to what he's worried about. He really should've left a half hour ago before this happened. But Holly's out, and there'd be no one to make sure he doesn't burn the house down.

"D'you know how to dance?" Holland inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Dance?"

"Yeah, I was in a group when I was a kid. You'd have loved the hammer pants."

"Fuck you," Healy laughed and stepped back.

"You aren't supposed to laugh!" He added but laughed along with Healy anyway. "The Waltzing, that's pretty easy,"

Healy hated to admit it but he didn't know how to dance. He wanted to enrol in classes at one point but June hadn't wanted him to learn, and didn't want to learn herself. So he stuck with his mediocre swaying whenever the occasion called for it. He always thought he'd look stupid dancing anyway.

"I don't remember the tap dancing, but let me show you the Waltz." He asked and when did so much light get into his eyes?

Healy wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to dance. As much as he should, he's wanted to learn for years. It's always been at the back of his head and it had to be Holland fucking March of all people that brought it back to the front. Anyway, although he knew that he shouldn't, he couldn't pass down the chance to touch him and be touched in return. He'd usually have rules about this, not wanting to take advantage and all that shit - but maybe it was the crap morning they had, or the one too many YooHoo's, that made him crave something more.

"I only know the guy part though, so that puts you in an interesting position." He said, already dragging the coffee table out of the way and gesturing for Healy to move the couch.

Not that it matters anyway, he didn't know either part. And he's not going to be dancing with a woman anytime soon, either. They found themselves both stood in the middle of the room with the blinds drawn. When did they get closed?

"Let me take a look at you." Holland grinned and circled him slowly. It felt as though he was observing every detail and Healy suddenly felt extremely self-conscious about his old shoes and tired eyes. "We've got no music and you're the woman, so, I don't know, pretend to be my date or something."

He turned to March and curtsied, not managing to suppress a smile.

"Don't," March laughed, "straighten up," he instructed, still laughing and turning Healy to face forward as he moved to his side.

"I am straightened up," he said defensively.

"Put your arms out, and one like this," he said arranging Healy into a dancing position with a straight back, his right arm out in a straight line and the left curled as though it was wrapped around someone's back. "Sway your back a little!"

"This is a strange fucking way of dancing, March." He observed but obeyed anyway.

"I'm gonna get in there," he promised and Healy wish he could have that sentence recorded to play back whenever he wanted. "I just need to show you the three step."

He copied the pose that Healy was in and stood next to him to demonstrate. "Watch, you're gonna go 1, 2, 3... 1, 2, 3... 1, 2, 3." Stepping forwards, right and back on each beat. Can't be too hard, Healy mused. "Alright, now you go."

He copied the steps that he'd just been shown, probably with less accuracy and too much concentration etched on his face but he still looked towards March for approval once he'd finished.

"Yeah, alright, let's go." He raised his hand to brush off Healy's practice steps and stepped closer to Healy.

Within the matter of seconds, they were now stood centimetres apart. Healy began to think it wasn't so much of a good idea. But 'not good' doesn't mean 'don't do it', especially when Holland was stood so deliciously close. He took Healy's right hand in his and smirked.

"My hand's gonna start talking to your lower back," he warned with a laugh when he saw Healy's lips quirk into a smile, "so I need your lower back to just... pay attention."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me," Healy mused, not successful in dying down the laughter but making it become heavy breathes and smiles. His hands rested in the air beside Holland's body and were promptly grabbed by March.

"Put one of your hands like this," Holland moved Jackson's right hand in an upwards, straightened position clasped with March's own, "and the other like this." He told him, dragging it towards his own body and suddenly, March had stepped closer and rested Healy's soft, but probably now clammy, palm on the side of his ass.

Healy scoffed a laugh, making Holland do the same. "That's not it, that's inappropriate." March laughed and jokingly shook his finger at Jackson as they parted, making out it was his fault. Then he stepped closer to grab his hands again.

Maybe they were stood a little closer than necessary but that's part of the Waltz. Then Holland nodded and they started stepping together. But poor old Jackson was finding it difficult to not focus on the lips in front of him or the strong jaw of his dance partner and instead focused his gaze on the ripped piece of wallpaper behind Holland.

After two steps, Holland spoke up. "Now, where are you lookin'?" He questioned staring intensely at Healy and releasing the grip he had on him. "Where are you lookin'?"

"I was -" He attempted but was cut short.

"Stop for a second. Who're you looking at?" He motioned with his hands outstretched between them. "Are you dancing with over there or are you dancing with me?" He said with an intense gaze pinned on Healy, but a give-away curve of his lips that were evidence of a smile.

"I'm dancin' with you," he replied, his voice rougher than before.

"Yes! It's not about this," he told Jackson with a gesture towards their feet, "it's about this." Motioning between their eyes. 

Fuck Holland March.

"I wanna feel like I'm the only person in the room! All the people are boring and the world melts away!" He tells him sternly with his voice raised, but all whilst a smile supports his face.

They get back into the same positions as before and start dancing again. After three steps, Holland smiles brightly. "You're gettin' it!" He exclaimed whilst still moving and his tongue darted out momentarily to his lips.

And suddenly, it's all too much. The dancing, the closeness, the touches. Jack can't stop himself from leaning forward and brushing his lips against Holland's, their dancing abruptly coming to a halt whilst Holland's breath catched. His eyes also fluttered closed then re-opened. That's all it could've been. Barely a brush of the lips; something that could easily have been ignored. Something they could've stepped away from and wouldn't have to speak about it again. But Holland didn't step away, just looked into Jackson's eyes as though he was searching for something; and that was enough reason for Jackson. He pressed his lips back against Holland's but this time more insistently. Their mouths opened together and Healy felt his own tongue pressing wetly against Holland's. He moved closer, if that was possible, and one hand grasped a handful of his hair whilst the other rested on his lower back, pushing their bodies together. Without warning, he _tugged_ the hair in his hands and Holland March fucking _moaned_. It was exquisite. His lips kissed wetly down his jaw towards the neck that was now exposed. He pressed open mouth kisses all over the skin. There was too much tongue, but Holland was rutting against Healy and if that wasn't indication enough that he was enjoying it, what the fuck would be?

Holland's hands began working in time with his brain and he grasped at Healy's waist, using his body as an anchor to grind his own into. His hands ran over his stomach then back to his waist as though he was testing the waters. Then Healy felt the pair of hands running over his stomach, grabbing and pinching. "Holland," he groaned.

The hands slipped under his shirt and rested on his stomach, squeezing. The warmth radiated made Holland groan. "Jesus," he finally spoke, "you're so fat. Fuck. Did I say that out loud? _Shit_."

Then their erections brushed against each others and they both moaned. Holland buried his face in Jackson's neck, breathing in heavily whilst his hands teased the fat hidden underneath the shirt. His cock twitched. "Jack," he whined. Since when did he start getting off to old, fat men?

His thoughts quickly pieced back together and he pushed Jackson away, who stumbled backwards. He looked fleetingly at him and the Jackson suddenly realised Holland was in regret already. But _fuck _, didn't he want it too? The strain in his pants suggests so.__

__It was quiet for a moment. Too quiet. And both men looked dishevelled, Holland's hair was ruffled and Jackson's shirt was creased, a button even opened from where Holland must've tried to get better access._ _

__"I -" Holland started stuttering, "fuck, can you go?"_ _

__"Holland -" He tried to argue and straightened his shirt._ _

__"No," March answered and searched hurriedly for Healy's stuff. He found his keys and grabbed his jacket, shoving them into Healy's arms and turning to walk towards the door._ _

__"Just wait a second," Healy protested and moved into Holland's space, chucking his items down on the way. "I made a mistake, alright, but -"_ _

__"Healy, seriously," March breathed and this close, Jackson could tell what was going on. He saw the panic and fear in his eyes and it was obvious that Holland was freaking out. Suddenly, his breathing was getting rapid and faster and he was struggling to take breathes._ _

__"Look at me- " Jackson ordered and directed Holland's head in his own direction, "just breathe, okay?" He took deep breathes for Holland to copy. After a few minutes, Holland's breathing had got back to normal and they were just two men, standing together in an empty apartment._ _

__"Aright?" Healy asked and March nodded, sheepishly looking into his eyes. "Come on, let's go to sleep."_ _

__-_ _

__In the morning, Healy woke up in a bed that wasn't his own but the surroundings were familiar. He propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and finding himself in Holland's bed with his shirt and no pants._ _

__He rolled out of bed and made his way towards the suspicious sounds of a radio that led him into the kitchen. There, Holland was stood in what looked like an attempt to make breakfast, humming along to the same tune that he was the day before. Healy made his presence known by pulling a chair out and sitting down. March jumped and turned around, relaxing when he saw Healy but looking uncomfortable. Jackson matched that feeling. "Morning," Jackson spoke evenly, unsure of what territory they were in._ _

__"Hey," Holland replied and continued making breakfast._ _

__After plating up for the both of them and finishing eating, Jackson decided to comment on the night before when they were both stood at the sink, putting their plates in to soak._ _

__"Last night," he spoke, "where do we go from there?" And damn, he hadn't heard so much anxiousness in his voice in a long time._ _

__But then Holland turned towards him and said what seemed to be the most obvious thing in the world,_ _

__"The same way we started - together."_ _

**Author's Note:**

> So this is completely inspired by one of Ryan's interviews on Jimmy Kimmel. Seriously, go check it out if you haven't already. It's worth the watch.
> 
> Also, if anyone's read the novelisation written by Charles Ardai, you'll recognise part of this has been taken and slightly changed from that so I can't claim that section as my own work completely - just as a slight disclaimer to you all. You'll know which part I mean if you've given it a read. And again, it's something I definitely recommend.
> 
> I've never written for these characters before so I hope I've got the voice and characterisations right. Being in-character is the most important aspect of a story for me so I hope this paid off. I realise the ending on Holland's part is probably slightly OOC but hey, I wanted a fluffy ending and my sleep deprived brain couldn't supply anything else in it's place. It's past 12 AM, give me a break.
> 
> Don't ask me where Holly is. Probably at Jessica's.


End file.
